multiversallogs | Feelin' strange 'bout my rider, babe, I'm booked and I got to go

Who: Njoki + YOU + ??? = PROFIT
What: Slice of life stuff, mostly business about town.
Where: Mafaton, Sobek Croix, or in herbal/magic supply shops about town.
When:
Notes:Pick your poison and label your thread:
Option A: Call or come by her apartment. Does your character need some conjure done?
Option B: Njoki has set up an appointment to chat with Hellsing. Does she meet your character while waiting?
Option C: Ki doesn't have her own garden, so she's out and about to restock her supplies.

As much as fixing up Pickman's rotting feet was for her peace of mind (and sense of smell), the repair job also served as a brilliant bit of self-promotion. Word is slowly getting out that there's a rootworker who specializes in the dead, undead, and not entirely living living in Mafaton, up above a consignment store. The door up to the apartment she shares with Pickman has been marked out by a sign in the same style as her business card and a small, metal and glass tube nailed into the lintel.

Should anyone come to visit, phoning first is recommended, but the door is almost always unlocked. The staircase is a narrow, twisting affair leading up into a modestly sized livingroom with walls lined in shelves made from cinderblocks and wooden planks holding little glass bottles of different colours filled with herbs, roots, beads and bones, wooden boxes with paper envelopes and sachets of powers and washes, a whole collection of candles of different weights and sizes, and other objects of her trade. During the day, that the room is sparse, not yet fully lived in is highlighted by the airy open windows framed by blackout curtains, and during the evening the open windows manage to bring in a pleasant breeze.

Upon arriving in Baedal, Njoki was fortunate enough to have brought along her well-stocked hoodoo kit and after the sale of a portion of some of those items and her letter back home, she's now able to afford to go explore the local botanicas, herbalist, and certain dealers of (not quite) ill-repute. In between visits to various shops, she's made an appointment to stop by Hellsing and hear a little bit more about who they are, what they do, and what she can do for them. While their people seemed plenty pleasant at The Apache, she still doesn't trust them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Kentucky," he says, a bit unsure about her reaction, but thinking it could be worse. "Harlan county, if you know it. You?"

"Sorry, I've never been that far south, but I've heard Kentucky's beautiful." Her own accent places her from somewhere francophone and Northern Africa, but that's not always easy to guess unless one is already familiar with the sounds. "Montreal, me."

"Never been to Canada, myself," he says, in turn. "Kentucky's got her charms, though not everyone's first vacation pick." Raylan smiles a little. "Was in Miami for a bit."

Njoki wrinkles up her nose at the mention of Miami.

"I'm sure it can be nice there, but I had one of those vacations that went wrong every which way." There's a sense of humour to what she's saying -- sure, the trip was a disaster at the time, but it's funny now.

"Lots of tourists and old people; makes for an interesting mix of crime." Lots of drugs, too, but he doesn't say as much directly. "Then again, I guess given where we are..."

"It's an interesting sort of city. I dunno really how to feel about it." While there's a lot about Baedal Njoki doesn't like, she does appreciate the freedom the city offers. "I hope someone remembers to water my plants back home."

"Yeah." It's a little fainter - he's been trying not to think about how long he's been gone. What Art will think. What Winona will.

"Oh," suddenly remembering himself, "I, uh, I hope I ain't keeping you from anything. Just seemed a bit less than hospitable." The way she was thrown out.

"No, not at all," she says and then catches his tone and unthinkingly, lays a hand against his elbow as if to say that she's sorry to have brought it up.

"It's their business, their choice who and what they want to 'associate' with." Snort.

"Fair enough." The touch is unexpected, but he doesn't notably tense except the involuntary mental reaction; he's a paranoid man, but that doesn't mean he's an unmannerly one. He smiles a little, instead, and says, "Well, I ain't doing much of anything, if you want someone to glare over your shoulder at shopkeepers."

"I'm all for company, but most of what I'm doing is just walkabout and, ah, it'd only be fair to tell you what I do before getting your face associated with mine." Raylan seems like a nice fellow and a gentleman and it's only fair to inform him that she's involved in an unusual profession.

He tilts his hat back. "Alright, try me."

"I'm a hoodoo. Folk magic, yeah?" Conjure and rootwork are pretty common in certain parts of Kentucky, so it's likely that Raylan knows what she's talking about. "And that's the bulk of my work, but I also do healing for the dead, undead, all that."

Raylan considers that, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll be honest, I don't... didn't really have any call to believe in that stuff, back home. I'm tryin' to keep an open mind, here, but it's slow going." He's being frank; the bullet scar that should have been much worse was a constant reminder that something was up, and his instincts for people were usually good. He doesn't feel like Njoki is malicious, or crazy.

"Unlike some folks here, nothing I do is flashy, and a lot of it is in the mind of the person I work for, but I get results." Conjure takes time to work and it often works best on things without visible cause -- bad luck, angry neighbours, already being crossed by someone else, bad dreams. "That sort of work isn't what people get upset about. Some folks don't appreciate a woman that'll take on and patch up anyone."

"The undead, you mean. Like what, zombies, vampires?" Most of his knowledge is Hollywood, frankly.

"Mmhmm. There's a few other folks and things that'll come through, like golems, but vampires are the bulk of it. They live a long time and not everything heals." And, when you're looking at a few hundred years with only one eye or one hand, it's worth the money to get repaired.

"Right." He supposes that makes a crazy sort of sense.

"So you're sort of like a doctor. With a really specific field of practice."

"Exactly." A little like a doctor, a little like a mechanic, and a bit of sculptor to round it all out. "It's not a great job, but it's a rare enough talent that it'll keep me housed and fed, y'know?"

"Well, fair enough." He's not entirely comfortable, but he'll be damned if he'll show it; he's trying his best, and he's not so uncomfortable he's trying to get out of the conversation.

Feelin' strange 'bout my rider, babe, I'm booked and I got to go

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